Nympheas

Nymphéas You wanted to linger in the Montmartre where the shops were full of colorful Arab textiles, I wanted to take the train to Giverny to see the water lilies. The shopping was a distraction for you, the nymphaea a hope for us. The Saint-Lazare platform mirrored the distance of our disappointments. At Monet’s garden we watched the light play hide and seek among the lily pads, yet the pond reflected only itself within an upside down sky, its colors sinking into a drowning sunset. After a while you began to cry.